


Do Simulacra Dream of Enchanted Sheep?

by muirgen_lys



Category: Blade Runner (1982), Dragon Age II
Genre: AU, Bounty Hunters, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-28
Updated: 2014-11-28
Packaged: 2018-02-27 04:43:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2679572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/muirgen_lys/pseuds/muirgen_lys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Response to a kmeme prompt asking for a DA2 version of Blade Runner. Fenris is an artificial construct, created by Danarius. When he escapes, Hawke is hired to chase him down. Also an excellent excuse for me to drag out and repurpose some of my favourite Blade Runner quotes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Original prompte here: http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/11381.html?replyto=45222517 
> 
> I considerd placing Hadriana as Gaff but I didn't feel she fit the part, so I've just stuck Gaff into Tevinter.

“Adrian Hawke?” 

The man who had spoken wore a frown, and regular clothes, not robes, which suggested he wasn't anybody important. Adrian ignored him. The man let off a string of Tevene, much too fast to follow, limited as Adrian's command of the language was. Adrian raised an eyebrow, and the fish merchant he'd been haggling with stumbled through a translation.

“He say, go with him, see Magister.”

“You have the wrong person,” he told the man coolly. He'd come to deliver an expensive book to Magister Serianus. He'd been paid. He was going home on the next tide.

The man let off another string of Tevene.

“He say, you not go, Magister very angry, give you problem”

Adrian looked the messenger over. Dark hair, hollow eyes, cold expression - not a mage, but still a man with power. He didn't know what kind of man it took to hold power here without magic to back it up, but he suspected the simple answer was 'a dangerous one.'

“Let's go then,” he said.

 

Danarius was old, greying, and looked like he hadn't slept in a week. He was also a major political player in the city, and on the leading edge of his field in some extremely specific kind of magical research that Adrian knew little about.

“Messerre Hawke,” he said, nodding as Adrian entered. The pushy monolingual messenger took a chair and observed them, silently. “I hear that you are good at locating...unusual items.”

“I don't like being accosted in marketplaces,” Adrian said flatly.

Danarius shrugged. “You wouldn't have come if I'd sent an invitation.”

That was hard to argue with, since it was true. He took a seat, and poured himself a glass of Danarius' wine, raising his eyebrows to signal Danarius to start his pitch.

Danarius slid a picture across the table towards him. It was a detailed sketch of an elf, covered in not-quite-dalish style tattoos. Good looking, if you liked that sort of thing, which Adrian did. “This is Fenris,” the magister said. “It is...an experiment that escaped.”

“That's embarrassing,” Adrian commented. 

Danarius' lips pressed together, but he only said “Indeed. I need him retrieved and returned to me, or destroyed, as soon as possible.”

Adrian frowned down at the picture. “This isn't my kind of work,” he said. “I don't retrieve live cargo.”

“Fenris isn't alive,” the magister said coolly. Adrian shot him a skeptical look, and he shook his head. “He looks like an elf, but he isn't one. He's a simulacrum, a construct. He looks alive, he acts alive, but I promise you, he's nothing of the sort.”

Adrian considered. “Why the rush to get him back?”

“He's valuable. More to the point, he's dangerous. I've seen him rip a man's heart out with his hands. If he takes a dislike to someone, without me to rein him in, the consequences could be...bloody. Better to eliminate him before that happens.”

He looked at the sketch again – and damn, that was a good looking elf – then read the price Danarius was offering. It was tempting...

But he avoided Minrathous for a reason, and dealing in live cargo, even fake live cargo, was more dangerous than old books. He shook his head. “No deal. I don't do this kind of work.”

Danarius' smile turned icy. “I would consider carefully before rejecting my offer, Messere Hawke. Even in the free marches, I can make your life extremely difficult if you cross me.”

Adrian looked him over, then glanced at the impassive figure in the other chair. “Alright,” he said, “tell me about the job.”


	2. Chapter 2

The simulacrum had apparently been spotted by the docks. Probably it was trying to buy passage out of Tevinter. Adrian could sympathise. He'd missed his ride for this damn job, and at this rate he was going to be stuck in Minrathous a lot longer than he'd intended.

He hadn't caught a single glimpse of the thing since the hunt began. Fenris was clever, quiet, and stayed out of sight. There were signs, though. Danarius hadn't been kidding about hearts being ripped out. Three such eviscerated bodies had been found since the escape, and Danarius' ill-tempered messenger – who, it turned out, spoke common just fine – predicted more to come. 

Adrian scanned the crowd, looking for his target. It was evening, and dockworkers were beginning to head home, causing a constant, flowing crowd. He had to shove past people just to stay still. 

For just an instant, he caught sight of a shock of white hair, and he elbowed his way towards it. It disappeared into the crowd, but he kept going, catching up to where it had been. He was stopping to turn around when a darkly tanned, tattooed hand shot out to grasp him by the shoulder. It jerked, and spun him into a darkened space, behind a stack of crates.

“Fenris.” Maker. The elf - simulacrum, whatever – was even more handsome in person. Adrian could have stared at him all night.

“Who are you?” Fenris demanded. 

That shook Adrian out of his reverie, and his fist caught Fenris solidly on the jaw, but the elf was stronger than he'd have expected. He recovered in an instant, smashing the next blow aside, and ripping Adrian's dagger out of its sheath before he could react.

“Do you know what these are?” the elf demanded. He shoved his palm into Adrian's face, so that the whitish lines nearly brushed his nose.

Adrian didn't answer.

“They are Lyrium. Burned into my flesh to provide the power that my master requires. And he would see me dead to get them back.” The elf lowered the hand, pressed it to Adrian's chest. “No doubt he has told you what I can do,” he said, “what he meant me to do for him.” 

The lyrium flared blue-white, and the fingers began to sink into Adrian's chest. His breath caught in his throat, and he could feel his heart racing. Apparently Fenris could feel it too, because he smiled bitterly. 

“Painful to live in fear, is it not?” he said. “Like an itch you can never scratch. There is nothing worse.”

Adrian shoved himself back, sending crates flying, but it got the elf's hand out of his chest cavity, so the mess was worth it. Fenris wasted no time recovering, grabbing him and smashing him into the ground while he was still off balance. Stars burst behind Adrian's eyes as he hit the ground, dazed. He looked up at the elf, expecting a glowing fist to tear his heart out any second. 

Instead, the elf stood over him in a pose of apparent pain, lyrium lighting and fading down his arms.

“It's killing you,” Adrian said, a moment of sudden understanding hitting him like a thunderbolt. “Lyrium is toxic. You might not be alive, but that doesn't mean you're immune. It just means it'll take longer.”

He met Fenris' eyes, grass-green, and bright with pain, and realised the elf already knew. Knew, and could do nothing about it. What a nightmare.

Adrian rolled to his feet, and the elf flinched back, stumbling. It was clear he couldn't fight Adrian and the poison at the same time, and Adrian should have seized the moment to take him in, get his bounty, and get out of this fucking city. Instead he waited, chest oddly tight, until the glowing lines faded, and the elf was back in control. He watched as Fenris turned and disappeared again into the throng of people.

Only then did he realise that he'd stopped thinking of the elf as a construct.


	3. Chapter 3

The hunter's revelation was not news to him. He could feel the slow breakdown of his markings, day by day. Mostly he had the pain under control, but now and then it would flare, as he had stored it up behind a dam, to release it all at once.

It was the other half of the hunter's statement that disturbed him.

_You might not be alive, but that doesn't mean you're immune._

He turned the words over and over in this mind, fiddling with them. Pairing them up with things his Master had said, trying to make sense of it. It didn't take long to work out the truth. He had been told that he'd lost his memory in the ritual that created his markings. He'd been lied to. The ritual had created _him_ , out of whole cloth, markings and all.

Once he'd put that much together, it didn't take long to work out the rest. He had been made this way on purpose. His Master had never explained the ritual to him – why would he? – but Fenris had spent enough time serving Magisters while they talked shop to pick up bits and pieces. The lyrium could have been left out, or made stable. Instead Danarius had chosen to leave him waiting for a tortuous, painful death.

\---

A sound at Danarius' door disturbed his evening reading, and he scowled, closing his book and leaving the bed. “Who is it?”

Instead of an answer, the door opened, and Fenris stepped inside, closing the door firmly behind him.

“Master.”

\---

For an instant, his Master seemed shocked. Then his face smoothed into its usual controlled, imperious expression. Fenris watched as his Master considered, and discarded, the idea of calling for help. It wouldn't reach them in time. Instead the magister smiled mockingly, as if this had been his plan all along.

“Ah, my little Fenris. Predictable as always. I'm only surprised you didn't come here sooner.”

Fenris gritted his teeth, then carefully, consciously, relaxed the muscles. He knew how to do this, how to stay calm around those who threatened him. He'd been doing it as long as he could remember.

As long as he'd existed.

“It's not an easy thing to meet your maker,” he said. He could see understanding dawn in his Master's eyes, the realisation that Fenris knew. 

“What can he do for you?” 

“Can the maker repair what he makes?”

“You wish to be improved?”

Fenris barely restrained himself from snarling. “I want to live, _Master_.” Somehow the word had become a curse on his lips.

Danarius smirked. “There, I cannot help you. The spell matrix is self sustaining. To interfere with it now would destroy you. Rebuilding it would create a whole new construct. Surgical modification would increase the rate of damage. But this is academic, Fenris. You were made as well as I could make you.”

“Not to last.”

Danarius shrugged. “The light that burns twice as bright, burns half as long. Look at yourself, Little wolf. You're quite a prize - my most valuable possession. The perfect balance of power, and control.”

“Stabilising the lyrium would have limited my abilities.”

“Rendering you useless. Worthless. You know what is done with useless slaves. Did you want that fate for yourself?”

He didn't, of course, but now he saw the lie buried in Danarius' words. He could have served as a bodyguard, personal servant, and conversation piece, even without his extra abilities. Ripping out hearts was an extra element of intimidation and creativity for his master to brag about.

He bowed his head, stepped closer. “No master,” he said. “I shouldn't have run. Forgive me.”

“Very well,” said Danarius. “Return to me, serve me, and I will call off those hunting you.”

Fenris' eyes blazed with rage and he forced it away with practised ease. Slaves could not afford to be easily angered. Even so, it took a moment to make himself play along.

“What shall it be, Fenris? Will you throw your life away?”

Fenris shook his head. “No, master. I will return to you.” He sank to his knees.

Danarius' feet came closer, and a hand, long and aristocratic, with cool, papery skin, seized him by the jaw, lifting his face. Fenris' eyes locked on Danarius', and in the same instant, his hands closed around Danarius' bony wrists. He squeezed, hearing the bones pop and crack. Danarius screamed. 

He dragged the magister down until they were on a level, Danarius sprawled on the floor. He plunged his hand through the layers of robes, searching...

“I'm your master...” Danarius gasped. Fenris ripped the heart free, spattering them both with blood.

“Not any more.”


	4. Chapter 4

Adrian was done. He'd gone through the motions of hunting the elf these last few days, but the truth was, he was afraid of finding him. The idea of murdering, or enslaving Fenris had literally given him nightmares since their encounter on the docks.

He had no stomach for this kind of work, and damn Danarius' empty reassurances that Fenris “wasn't real.” He was real enough to kill, real enough to fear...real enough to suffer.

He shouldered past the slave who tried to stop him at the entrance. She disappeared down a side corridor, probably to wake someone, and raise an alarm. Adrian didn't care. He was here to quit a job, not to make friends.

He didn't know where Danarius was but it didn't matter. The little slave would wake the household, and Danarius would come find him in the study where they'd first talked. He was half way there when a scream echoing down a stairway interrupted his progress.

He should have ignored it. The Maker only knew what depraved shit went down in such houses in the middle of the night, and he was on thin ice as it was. He couldn't afford to interfere with Danarius' household.

He started up the stairs, silently cursing himself and everybody he'd ever met.

The room the scream had emerged from was right at the top of the stairs, Obviously Danarius'. Alright, so the diversion hadn't been a waste. He opened the door, stalking forcefully into the room. “I'm done with your-”

His words screeched to a halt as he took in the scene before him. It was not the magisterial perversion he'd been expecting. Instead, he saw Danarius, and Fenris in a mockery of an embrace – Danarius' twisted body in Fenris' arms, and a dripping heart clutched in Fenris' right hand.

He stumbled back, stunned. Fenris dropped his grisly burden, and whirled on Adrian, eyes wild. “You!”

Adrian knew that look. Fenris had been pushed to the edge, running on adrenaline, rage, and terror. It was the look of a hunted animal, prepared to do anything.

He never wanted to see it on that gorgeous face again.

Fenris surged towards him. Adrian did the only thing he could think of: he ran.

\---

It was a good thing that few people were up at this time of night, because the chase that followed would have endangered everyone. As it was, mostly only the house suffered. Adrian raced blindly down halls and stairways, breaking mirrors and statuary, the elf always too close on his heels.

Fenris knew the house better than he did. Time after time, he cut Adrian off, or redirected him into dim, cramped sections of the house where he could hardly see to run. Adrian was fading fast, sick with exhaustion, and probably sicker with guilt.

He faltered, panting, and looked around. He'd long since accepted that he was lost, but now he wasn't even sure which way he'd been running. If he took the wrong path, he'd run straight into Fenris by accident. He stood, frozen in indecision, until a sound from his left decided him, and he ran the other way, stumbling blindly on the uneven floor.

He almost killed himself ramming into a set of stone stairs, and did manage to break his hand. He clambered up the steps awkwardly, and nearly fell when he reached the top.

It was an observation tower, small, and spare, with big, unglazed windows. There was no other way out, and a glance showed that the elf was right behind him. Fenris glowed like an avenging angel, deadly lyrium brands fully alight. He was deliberate, but implacable, and life-and-death intensity burned in his eyes.

“I'm sorry,” Adrian said. He wasn't getting out of this. He was tired, and injured, and didn't want to hurt the elf. He backed up. “I let him convince me it didn't count, that you weren't real. I'm sorry.”

Fenris advanced, and he backed up further. He was almost against the wall now. One more step.

His foot twisted on a broken tile, and he fell against the wall...but there was no wall. His hands caught against empty air, the windowsill hit him just above the knees, and he fell. Thick night air rushed past his face, and his heart seized. His hands scrabbled wildly at the wall, and one – the broken one- managed to catch at a decorative outcropping. Pain screamed up his arm, and his stomach twisted. He cast about for another handhold, but there was nothing in reach. His hand was slipping. He was going to-

Strong, tanned fingers, lined with lyrium, seized his wrist, and hauled him upwards. He caught the windowsill with his other hand, and heaved, but he was only half way there when he heard a grunt of pain from above him, and the hand holding his lit up again.

He half expected the blazing fingers to slip right through his arm, but they held. Grimly, Fenris raised him up, until they were eye to eye, Adrian still dangling out the window. 

“Quite an experience to live in fear, isn't it?” The elf's voice was soft, and thick with anguish. Whatever had been driving him, the lyrium poisoning had stripped it away, and he sounded hollow. “That's what it is to be a slave.”

The elf pulled Adrian inside, and deposited him on the floor, where he collapsed in a heap. Fenris sat down opposite him, brands finally fading. “You were right,” he said. “They are killing me. Destroying me. I don't know. What do you call it, when a construct dies?”

“Call it whatever you want,” Adrian told him. “It's your life.”

Fenris' lips twisted. “If you can call it that.” He shook his head. “I have done terrible things. Perhaps it is no more than I deserve.”

Adrian cocked an eyebrow at the elf. “How many of those things did you do of your own choice?”

Fenris nodded, as if acknowledging a point. “Few of them,” he said, “but I did them all the same.”

“I don't want you to die.”

“There's nothing to be done,” said Fenris. “Danarius was clear. There can be no modification to the spell once it is complete. The attacks will continue, with increasing frequency until eventually...” he trailed off. “I don't even know how long I have.”

“Come with me,” said Adrian. “I'm leaving anyway; I already have my passage booked. They can take you too.”

“To do what? Die slowly in another city?”

“And have adventures in the meanwhile. Seize the time you've got, however long it may be. And who knows...maybe there's someone out there who can do what Danarius couldn't.”

He hauled himself to his feet, and held out a hand to the elf. Their hands clung to each other as they made their way down the stairs.

\---

Danarius' cold, grim-faced messenger was waiting for them at the entrance. He took in the scene with calculating eyes, but offered them no challenge. As they passed, he lifted a hand, and threw something to Adrian, who caught it awkwardly: a coin purse. Adrian opened it, glanced inside, and nearly laughed. His reward, for the capture of the fugitive simulacrum. Well, he supposed he had fulfilled the terms.

“It's too bad he won't live,” the messenger said darkly. “But then again, who does?”

Adrian flipped him off as they walked out the door. He had a ship to catch.


End file.
